What Could Be
by Razer Athane
Summary: He would not become the Time Lord Victorious, for he wasn't alone. -Oneshot-


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: It's TenToo Week! A friend and her friend on tumblr have organised a week for everyone's favourite biological metacrisis (5th – 12th July), and thus I am throwing in a fanfic. Enjoy!

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**What Could Be**

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It'd been one year, one hundred and fifty-three days, twelve minutes and... _three_ seconds since the rift to the other world closed off.

He didn't know why he was still counting.

It wasn't that he was unhappy here, no. He was truly the happiest here that he'd ever been – reunited with Rose, a still growing TARDIS on the way, and a young and bouncy Tony Tyler to teach and entertain (and though Jackie didn't like some of the 'space stories' that were told, she would admit that some made her smile).

He was glad things happened the way they did, even if... Donna did end up losing all memories of him and what they'd done back on regular – _regular?_ Is that what it _still_ was to him? – Earth now. Sure, he wasn't there, but he knew what would happen. The Doctor always knew, even in the heat of battle, and it saddened him deeply.

It was that he still needed _fixing._

After all this time, after everything he'd been through with all his friends, all he learnt, what he could've been... he still needed _fixing._

Because, apparently, his imperfections weren't just bad, _they were dangerous._

The Doctor wasn't damaged goods, not since he bumped into Rose when he'd been searching for the Nestene Consciousness. And yet apparently there were still some parts of him that hadn't faded in strength, parts that needed calming and gluing back together. Parts of him that he had buried that only resurfaced upon the wartime biological metacrisis. And that irritated him. Oh, that absolutely irritated him, because he was _better _than that.

And yet, he still seemed to hover back towards that past, those actions; they were always closest to him when he was forced to _stop._

"_He's too dangerous to be left on his own."_

That was what his other self had remarked, his voice a mixture of anger, shock, divided frustration and vague understanding. Back then on that beach one year, one hundred and fifty-three days, fifteen minutes and... _thirty-four_ seconds ago.

A hand gingerly placed itself on one of his shoulders, breaking him from his thoughts. A small smile formed on his lips as he turned to see Rose standing there, tucking some of her blonde hair behind her ear.

Within a few moments, she settled beside him, holding onto his arm and looking up at the stars, where he'd previously had his gaze. It was hard here, on the slow path, but it was much more enjoyable than he expected it to be. The Doctor had great company. But the call of time and space was beginning to wear him down, even though he knew that he just had to keep waiting.

Rose soon noticed that he was eyeing a particular thing in the sky, if only for something to focus on. She squinted and found that it was a rich, earthy red; and then she spoke, "What are you thinking about? You thinking about where we're going to go once we have a TARDIS again?"

"Not quite," he replied, moving one of his hands to place it on top of hers. Though if he _did_ think about it, he would probably take her to the planet Barcelona. As he'd promised many years ago, as it had never been fulfilled (and she had mentioned it a few times late at night, lying alone with him).

"About changing clothes, then?" she asked airily, "You've been wearing the same suit for ages. Why not throw a bright red bow tie into the mix?" A playful and well-meaning wink, "I think you'd look dashing in it, makes you stand out more than just being a skinny man in a suit," and a mock 'bow tie' adjustment.

The Doctor snorted, "Bow ties are _rubbish_."

He then stilled momentarily – a wisp of a face never to be passed behind his eyes – and tuned back in again, being asked about his thoughts once more.

"About... what could be."

He could see all of time and space, everything that ever was and ever could be... and yet the Doctor, now _forced_ to be stationary, could only see a darker part of himself. One that tried to scramble to the surface from the past, one that could potentially leak through into his future or twist his mind in another way.

Something about a victory, something about change. Something wrong. Something _terrifying._

Detecting the unease, Rose quickly pointed to the red sphere, "Is that Mars? It seems so close."

"Periapsis!" he chimed, grinning as though nothing was weighing his thoughts, "In which one object is at its closest point to another – or, well, Mars to Earth, in this case..." He looked back to her, still all teeth and at ease, "We never usually see planets in this manner, do we?"

Somewhere far away, in another life and another time, a woman shouted accusations, brushing red dust from her shoulders; a man was bewildered and follows; and a final, strong-hearted and remarkable woman stood there, asking him why.

"Can we go there? To Mars, I mean?"

He paused for several moments, his voice taking on a more solemn tone, "I don't think that's wise..."

"Why not?"

"Ice Warriors and all that, nothing that important happens there..."

But she knew he was lying. Rose always knew – so she shoved him lightly.

Somewhere in the Medusa Cascade, he could hear the roar of a bitter, old and _lonely _man, declaring himself the Time Lord Victorious; and the frustration and anger that seeped through, the _control..._ And he will _not_ be that man. He will _not_ let it fall into place.

_I will not be that man._

It sounded so weak in his mind.

"It's a famous story, the one where you lot landed the first human colony on Mars; and a fixed point in time, too. Shouldn't ever be interrupted," he began, leaning back onto the Tylers' lush grass, "Bowie Base One, November 2059... long after the Ice Warriors. Captain Adelaide Brooke and her team. All bright, and all doomed. No one knows how they all died, no one knows what _really_ happened. One of the great mysteries of the universe," after a pause, his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he continued, "All that was left was a single, recorded message."

Rose didn't miss how his eyes began lighting up, the more he spoke about this place. Honestly, she wanted to hear more; about the people who were there, about the stakes of the mission, the aftermath... "What did it say?"

"'Don't drink the water. Don't even touch it. Not one _drop_.'"

He _might've_ listened to it more than once, he _might've_ considered going once upon a time, as a different man... He _might've_ been interested – who wouldn't be? A mystery that no one could ever truly understand. No one except... him.

"And, Doctor," Rose grinned, leaning over him and obscuring his view of the red planet, "Doesn't something like that make you... _curious?_"

A grin and a light laugh escaped him as he admitted, "A little."

But he wouldn't go, out of fear of becoming... _dangerous,_ as had been predicted. As he could hear in the echoes of time that continued to beat through his hearts – _heart._

Though, one year, one hundred and eleven days, fifty six minutes and... _twenty seconds_ later (and right after Barcelona), they land, together, on the surface of Mars. Across from the TARDIS was a clear name on the exterior, metal hull, and it made them both grin in amusement (and Rose did begin singing a poor rendition of 'Space Oddity', which only served to make the Doctor laugh).

He would not become the Time Lord Victorious, for he wasn't alone. He was with a wonderful, kind woman.

He will _never_ be that man.


End file.
